ECLIPSE WATCHING 8/21/2017
—Katy Brown, Davis, CA
Can you hear the world hushing
with the silent moon rushing
to cross the path of the sun?
We won’t see totality
we’re too far south for reality
of umbra, corona, night sky.
But I’ve removed my colander
and set-up away from the conifer,
to catch mere shadows on the ground.
I’m ambushing reality —
advancing, shadowy debris
of cosmic choreography.
Art can’t capture wonder
no matter how long we draw.
The lone image never captured awe.
A transference from dark to light
captured in the soul’s inverse,
leading to enlightenment, moves us to verse.
IF YOU BELIEVE IN THINGS
YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND:
When the moon goes into retrograde,
will it hide the sun again.
Will seas pull mountains into waves
and whales return to land.
How often will the nightingale
confuse the waiting world
with song that heralds night and day
and sunflowers, unfurled.
Or will the moon, with energy reversed,
simply whip the earth away
from gravity’s once-stable path
into dark doomsday?
The laws of physics won’t be changed
any time too soon.
For now, your lunch will always be
served to you at noon.
AND I CLAP
—David Wright, Sacramento, CA
There were trains I was to catch.
Places to go, clothe to wear.
Music they said I was to love.
And I had none of it.
As far back as Nursery School, I
Developed (or was it inborn?)
A violent revulsion to
Ingratiating myself to others.
In a circle, they played us
Kiddie's tunes on their
Brightly colored record player.
And if you clapped at the right time
It pleased them.
Be a good boy or good girl.
I wouldn't do it. I couldn't understand the
Lack of pride of the kids who did.
School was prison,
My crime was being alive.
Summer was freedom,
Summer was life.
And so to me time spun forward from
Summer to Summer.
Not clapping became not attending proms, or not
Having big weddings.
Mine was before a county clerk.
Guest list? My mother.
Thirty-six years ago.
What a riot, all the big weddings of our
Siblings and friends.
Days searching for the right dress, the ring.
The men in absurd tuxedos.
The cutting of the cake.
The canned honeymoon in some Hawaii.
Romantic, it says so right on the brochures.
Then, the obligatory photographs and videos.
They show them as if to make sure we know they've made it.
Still clapping on queue.
Almost all of them now divorced.
I shouldn't laugh at that, so I do.
Yet, it's true by not marching lock-step
They begin to hate you.
And your good deeds towards them
Make them hate you more as time marches on.
But time is a stubborn illusion.
From that I feign solace.
It's 2:00 A.M.,
My wife is asleep, and
Keeping me company as I write is
My pipe, a strong English tobacco tonight,
And my cat, Belle.
And I dance my dance alone.
And I clap.
—Medusa, with thanks to David Wright for his fine poem today, and to Katy Brown for her poems and the pix she took during the eclipse by setting out a colander and shooting through it. Such creativity surrounds us…
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